


Dying a hero

by VrottaBuddaPanda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Depressed Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Read the tags!, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark-centric, Torture, suicidal Tony stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2020-03-07 14:05:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18874708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VrottaBuddaPanda/pseuds/VrottaBuddaPanda
Summary: He remembers yelling at Ste- Rogers to end it. To kill him. He should have ended the work. He should have killed Tony. But he didn’t. He should’ve expected that too. After all, when had Rogers ever listened to Tony? He should never have trusted Rogers.What was it they say? If you want something done right… do it yourself





	1. Chapter 1

Tony feels nothing. Most people would probably say ‘well yeah, what did you expect from the Merchant of Death?’ 

But most people? They don’t know him. 

Most people haven’t even met him. 

They don’t know how exhilarating it felt to have created a circuit board at age four, believing Howard would finally pay attention to him. 

Or how warm he felt when Jarvis- the human one- said he was proud of Tony. How no matter how many times Jarvis said it, that feeling never changed.

They don’t know how safe it felt when his mother, Maria- mamma- sang to him to lull him to sleep. How she would play the piano with him when he felt sad. And how it always made it better.

How fond he was of his J.A.R.V.I.S., his kid. His bots.

Or how stunned he was when James Rhodes proved himself to be his first real friend by standing up to his bullies at MIT and still not wanting anything from Tony.

They don’t know how ecstatic he was when when he proposed to Pepper. How nervous he was, because he thought he wasn’t enough for her. How at the same time he was still happy because he had finally understood that no matter what, ring or no ring, she would be there, because she cared. 

How happy he felt when he became part of the Avengers, even if he was just a consultant.

 

They also don’t know how depressed he was every time Howards dismissed him, ignored him, like he was nothing.

How cold he was when Jarvis died with Ana. Breaking his promise not to leave him. 

How insecure he felt, when his mother wasn’t there to play for him

How hurt he was when J.A.R.V.I.S. left once again.

How he felt he should have expected it when Rhodey fell, and got in a coma, because everyone around him either left or got hurt.

Or how utterly calm he felt when Pep just looked sadly at him, her eyes watery, with pity written all over her. When she left and brought Happy with her.

They certainly didn’t know how miserable he felt when Bruce left him alone in the wake of Ultron. Or when Thor chocked him. When Clint and Wanda threw cars at him. When Natasha changed sides. When Stev… Rogers. It’s Rogers now. It has to. When Rogers… well, when Rogers outright betrayed him. 

Tony Stark has always been a whirlwind of emotions. Yet now Tony feels nothing.

He is spent. Everyone had a breaking point after all, and he just might have passed it. He feels like he has just poured all his emotions out of himself and now he is left with nothing. And he feels tired. 

God is he tired. 

Not only tired in the physical way- even though he is extremely tired in that way, too. No, he feels mentally tired. Like his mind too has just gone through a round with two super soldiers. And his mind lost, too.

He had done everything he could to help the Avengers, the world. But every time he tried to do something good, he just… messed it up. 

Howard was right. He was useless. Completely and utterly useless. Maybe the world would be a better place without him. At least he had tried, he really had. 

He remembers yelling at Ste- Rogers to end it. To kill him. He should have ended the work. He should have killed Tony. But he didn’t. He should’ve expected that too. After all, when had Rogers ever listened to Tony? He should never have trusted Rogers.

What was it they say? If you want something done right… do it yourself 

He is gonna die anyway, isn’t he? In this cold, with the suit disabled and with F.R.I.D.A.Y. unable to call help due to his order not to tell anyone where he is. And who would come anyway? Natasha is long gone, Rhodey is in a coma, Pepper isn’t even in the country anymore, the Spider-kid barely knows him, and Vision left too. Probably trying to find Wanda. 

All he has left is F.R.I.D.A.Y., and she doesn’t have a body to come to his rescue. 

He would feel bad about leaving her alone, but she will be better off without him. He has protocols and in case of his death she would be free to go anywhere she wanted. The bots too.

He isn’t going to stay around waiting for death. If he is gonna die, he’s going to do it his way. He isn’t gonna die because he was left behind. He’s going to die in his own terms. He is not dying chocking on his own blood due to his broken sternum. He isn’t freezing to death. And he is not dying because Mr. Perfect chose to leave him to die like yesterday’s trash. 

He is gonna die because he chooses to do so.

He is going to die by choice, not by chance. He’s going to die like he always knew he would: in the suit. It might not be the heroic death he had hoped, but it’s better than dying choking or freezing. He isn’t going to die by St-Rogers’ hand. 

If he’s gonna die by someone’s hand, he’s going to die by his own.

For a moment he thinks about the possibility of trying to escape this hell, and he has the weird need to laugh at the thought that one of the coldest places on earth could ever compared to Hell. So, half choking on blood, he laughs. It sounds too high pitched and hysterical, if not maniacal. It sounds wrong. It’s also painful, every move of his chest already hurting even before the unexpected laugh, which certainly isn’t helping. When he finally stops laughing (read: choking) he sighs. Even that hurts, and he knew it would, but somehow the pain is grounding. It helps him think. If he could live, would he really want to? He doesn’t think so. He’s too tired for that. He hasn’t got anything- anyone to return to but F.R.I.D.A.Y. and she still has to grow, she’s barely one year old, she won’t miss him. She barely knows him. Don’t get him wrong, he loves her with all his heart. Just like he loves Vision and the bots. And J.A.R.V.I.S., even if he isn’t here anymore. He loves them all, always did and always will. But they have each other. They’re going to be just fine. Even without him. And if not… they’ll figure it out. They are strong. He made sure of it. They’ll survive this. They’ll survive him. They won’t even miss him probably. No one will. After all, who would? Look at him. Pathetic. 

He scoffs at himself. ‘God, this is the biggest pity party ever. Get a hold, Stark’ he thinks when his eyes start to sting with held back tears. 

He isn’t going to die crying. He’s going to die facing Death head on. And maybe giving Life a middle finger. And what’s a better way to do that than by killing himself?

He grins. 

He probably looks crazy. Smiling like some villain who just won against his worst archenemy.

After all, what has Life ever done for him? Yes life gave him money and good looks and intelligence. But life also made him orphan, had him literally tortured and made sure everyone around him either got hurt or betrayed him. Maybe Death will give him something more.

So, feeling strangely numb, with the grin still gracing his broken and bloodied lips, he chooses Death. 

Tony pushes the emergency release button and rolls out of the suit, ending up laid on the cold pavement chest down. Hitting the ground chest first hurts. A lot. He groans and scrunches his eyes shut. He lets himself breathe for a moment, his breath visible and his cheek on the freezing snow. Uh, it had been snowing while he was making life-altering decisions. Or are they better described as life-ending decisions? Whatever, what was he doing again? Oh, right, killing himself. Anyway, he should probably move on, lest he forgets again. 

He plants his palms against the pavement and pushes against it, lifting himself onto his knees. While holding himself up with one arm, his right hand goes to the hidden compartment in his suit where a knife rests. It isn’t his favourite weapon, but he always thought it would come in handy. If he hadn’t thought about it, he now would have to use a piece of the armour. Lucky him. 

He props himself against one of the pillars and finds a comfortable enough position. Then, blade in his hand, he looks at his reflection in it. Well, he looks like shit. Whatever. Time is passing, and he’s running out of time. He can taste iron in the back of his throat. The light outside has dimmed, and he can feel the temperature dropping. It doesn’t matter how he looks. 

He moves his right hand, placing the point of the knife against his left wrist and pushing as he drags the blade across his skin, the knife cutting the skin in a quick movement, the pain almost overwhelming him as the blade bites his flesh like the cold could never hope to, but he keeps going. He can feel the nerves snap as he goes. But he keeps pushing. And then he takes the blade away from his skin and throws it on the ground in pain. 

His first instinct is to press a hand against the cut, but he suppresses it. Instead he fists his right hand to fight the pain and watches with morbid fascination the blood crawling down his skin from the jagged line. It looks like an overflowing river. If the water in the river was red. And warm. And sticky. 

God he’s going crazy. Well who gives a shit? After all he can always blame the cold, or the blood loss. 

He feels weirdly self-aware. So he closes his eyes and breathes, even if it hurts, and forces himself to relax his muscles. He takes a deep breath and reaches for the knife once again. 

He struggles to close his left hand around the blade, but as soon as he can he grips the knife as tight as he can and uses a shaky hand to cut from his right wrist to almost his elbow. There isn’t as much strength this time but he makes do. The struggle to hold the knife makes his hand treble as it cuts through his arm, making the cut less and less precise. His face shows no sign of the pain he is into, remaining relaxed, but both his hands start to treble harder, if from the pain, or the cold, he doesn’t know. 

It’s not like he doesn’t feel the pain, he muses. It’s more like he ignores it, setting it aside for a more important task. The task being killing himself

Once done with his right arm he throws the blade away. He feels so numb he struggles to move himself off of the pillar. His arms flare up in pain as he drags himself to the helmet of his suit, ignoring the arm and the shield, and leaving a trail of blood behind. He grabs it and rolls into the suit, letting himself fall heavily into it.

He sighs and with his trembling hand brings the helmet to close around his face.

He’s not dying as Tony Stark 

The hated one, the selfish one, the Merchant of Death. The one who was hated by his own father, the one who has no one but the people who work for him, the one who made billions out of blood of innocents 

If he’s dying, he’s dying as the loved one, the selfless one, the hero. The one who is loved by billions, the one who has a family in the Avengers, the one who sacrificed himself time and time again

The helmet lowers

He’s dying as Iron Man


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up slowly.

In itself, that should have been a hint as to the fact that he survived his attempt to kill himself, but, he has to admit, that at the time, he kinda forgot about it. Thankfully, he can blame it on the drugs that were running through his system at the time.

It was all kind of fuzzy when he opened his eyes only to squint at the strong light that came from the ceiling, but when his sight finally adjusted and he was able to look down at the itchy feeling that was crawling up his arms, a weirdly lucid dream came do mind as he took in the bandages that went from his wrists to his elbows. But was it a dream? It couldn’t have possibly been true, right? Why would he even- and then it came, the rest of the dream. That ugly, twisted dream that told him what kind of man Rogers really was, what kind of friendship theirs was. And it wasn’t a dream, no no, it was a Nightmare. And yes it deserved the capital n because fuck Rogers and fuck his boyfriend and fuck all of their merry band of assholes. Who had known? Did Natasha know? Did Clint? Sam might have known, but they hadn’t really been close- actually, fuck that, he should have told him if he did know, it was fucking human decency to tell someone the truth about their parents’ death. Fuck who had known, and fuck who didn’t, and-

“Mr Stark, are you with us?”

The voice startled him out of his thoughts, making his eyes snap to the man that was now to his left. He tried to sit up as the man neared him, having quite a struggle with his trembling arms. “Where am I?”

Before the man could answer someone opened the door and Thaddeus Ross came in. “You’re in the Raft, Stark”

Tony furrowed his brow. Talk about flashy entrance, how had Ross even heard his question? “And why, pray tell, am I here?”

“You lied, Stark, you told me you didn’t know where Barnes and Rogers were” he said fiddling with a red ball as big as a fist “and then you went there and helped them” Ross sighed “I’m very disappointed in you, Stark, very disappointed. You see, I thought we agreed, you and I-”

Tony laughed. He did not giggle. No sir. He didn’t. He laughed. And if it had to be defined, it would be defined as a rather manly laugh. And if he had, indeed, giggled, he could easily blame it on the drugs he was on

_Anyway_

Tony laughed in a rather manly way, thus interrupting Ross “are you seriously monologuing right now?” He asked amused “is that where we’re at right now? Cause if you pull any other super villain shit outta your ass I’m just gonna go ahead and ignore your-” the sound of the ball smacking the pavement stopped him. Tony was going to raise and eyebrow if it weren’t for the fact that a sudden wave of pain swept over him making his stomach clench, leaving him heaving, bile rising up his throat, leaving a burning sensation, and splattering on the floor. When Tony finally regained his breath he looked wide eyed up at Ross “what the- what the hell was that?” He asked breathlessly

“I thought we agreed” Ross continued ignoring his question “that actions. Must. Have. Consequences” he punctuated each of the tree words with the harsh slapping sound of the ball hitting the ground. Followed by the sound of his grunts as he tried not to yell or retch at the three waves of pain that almost drowned his consciousness.

He didn’t want to give Ross the satisfaction of his screams, so he clenched his teeth and swallowed the screams threatening to make their way past his lips, closing his eyes tightly enough to see spots, not daring to draw breath as moving anything would only worsen the pain. He gasped a breath when it finally ended. He took in a few trembling deep breaths before speaking again “you think you- you can keep me here? Huh? People will notice, Rho- Rhodey will notice, Pepper will notice, and you’ll be fucked when they find out what you’re doing to me” Tony laughed “you’re fucked, Ross, you’re done!” He smirked at Ross as he imagined Rhodey flying in and arresting the bastard “you’re so done, when the people’ll find out what you’re doing to their beloved Iron Man they’ll come for you” he said, grin splitting his face in half. But it started melt as he noticed the calmness in Ross’ eyes and the grin he was sporting.

Ross nodded “you’d think that, wouldn’t you? That people would notice the disappearance of the great Iron Man? But, you see, the vanishing of Tony Stark on the other hand… people don’t really care about it as much. All they needed to know was that Iron Man was dead and, by seeing their beloved hero’s carcass being dragged out of the bunker with Captain America’s shield embedded in its chest… well, it made it pretty easy for me to make them believe it. Actually, it made a lot of things easier for me. Like the Accords. Now everyone sees Iron Man’s death as a motive to sign the accords” Ross laughed “They didn’t even ask to see your body, the armour was enough for them. After all, they don’t really care about you, do they? They care about Iron Man and that’s it” he sighed “now, when we stitched up your arms, we inserted a chip in each of your arms, which melted into your nervous system, making me able to, when you aren’t- how can I say it? Docile… do this” he said letting the bill fall to the ground

He seized up in pain, all of his muscles tightening and trembling against the sheer force of the wave of pain. He didn’t know how much time passed, but it was the longest one yet. Finally spasming once released he gasped and coughed. Opening his eyes and looking at Ross while trying to draw deep breaths, he curled his upper lip and raised his chin in defiance “fuck you”

The ball slapped against the floor

  
So here he is now, half conscious, being dragged away from the medical room by two men who, by the way, aren’t being exactly gentle in their dragging. Spots are dancing in his vision and he must have blacked out at some point because now he’s on the ground breathing heavily. He tries to stay conscious and groans when he moves his stiff neck to see where he is. He closes his eyes as he focuses on staying awake. When he opens them again the lights are glaring at him making it hard to see. He looks around noticing for the first time the cell he’s in. There’s someone talking, but he can’t hear them over the ringing in his ears. He tries to see who it is but he can’t- he can’t focus. He clenches his eyes shut until the ringing goes away.

“Stark- Stark, do you hear me? Stark?” When he finally looks up, is to see Clint’s back in the opposite cell to his. But it isn’t him who’s talking, it’s Sam, to Tony’s right, looking confused if not a bit concerned “Stark, can you hear me?”

He grunts as answer, raising himself to a seated position against the wall, his ribs protesting all the way. Ross must’ve thought he would be okay with a few cracked ribs and no painkillers. He probably got his sternum replaced, or he wouldn’t be breathing right now

“What happened, Stark?”

He closes his eyes as he thinks about the past who knows how many hours. God, what the hell happened?

“Stark? Is Cap okay? Stark?”

Everyone thinks he’s dead and he’s stuck with people who pretty much hate him and that may have lied to him about his own parents

“What are those bandages around your arms? Stark?”

He rubs his eyes trying to prevent the incoming headache

“Are _you_ okay?”

Fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don’t like this chapter as much as I like the first, but it’s the beginning of the story I have planned out so... yeah


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It feels like burning, it feels like freezing

If he had anything in his stomach he would’ve puked it. Thankfully, and he’s being only half-sarcastic, they haven’t fed him in… well, he doesn’t really know how much time has passed since his awakening, but it must’ve been close to two days from the hunger he feels. He’s become quite good at telling how much time passes by the hunger he feels since he doesn’t really eat when he’s working. He can almost be precise to the minute

It’s a gift

He remembers the first time the guards brought food to the everyone but him. Sam had been confused at first, probably wondering if they had already fed him or if there was something wrong. The ant-guy cocked his head like a lost puppy, wondering the same as Sam. When Sam had voiced their concerns, Lang nodding along, Clint had been his asshole-self and stated that they had probably given him special treatment, giving him more food than they gave them before bringing him in. Tony wasn’t angry at him though, he didn’t have the strength to be. And after all, he knew Clint. He lashed out when he was hurt and angry- and boy was he angry right now. Clint also conveniently forgot that he had literally been dragged in, half conscious and in pain. So his theory sucked, but still Sam and Lang let it slide.

The second time it happened, a whole lot later than the first since meals are given at random times, few and far between (one of the ways they use to make them disoriented about what time it is), Sam was more vocal about it, yelling at the guards and demanding answers, Lang following suit like the lost puppy he is, both of them raging about the unfairness of it. Clint still hadn’t reacted, but from the small frown he wore as he ate his food Tony could tell he was troubled by the development.

The third time all three of them were banging on the glass of their cells, yelling and bringing the ringing in Tony’s ears to the next level.

The fourth and last time they had given up on yelling and had resorted to pleading

During the whole time he just sat there, trying to ignore their voices and failing miserably, resulting in The Headache of his life. Totally deserving of the capital h, Tony had thought as the pain in his head pulsed, thrumming a beat against the walls of his skull. The headache in turn made him unable to sleep, which only helped in making his headache stronger.

Then came Ross, the guards opening Tony’s cell, grabbing him by his arms, bringing him out and shoving him in front of Ross with enough force that he almost fell to his knees. “Where is Rogers?” He had asked

Tony, head still spinning from getting up too fast, had frowned “what?”

The blow to his stomach had come suddenly, and if he had eaten anything in the past two(?) days he would’ve puked it. But he didn’t so he can’t. So he stays there, heaving on nothing, in the centre of the room, the only thing keeping him upright the two guards holding him, surrounded by people who seemed to have forgotten to hate him in favour of acting outraged at the show before them. He wonders why they even care. _If_ they care. Maybe they are just protesting because they think themselves as ‘heroes’, and Ross is their Big Bad of the month. Maybe they have like a ranking of Big Bads, in which Ross results as a Bigger Big Bad than Tony, and so it makes it okay to defend Tony against the Bigger Bad. Once Ross is gone, if Ross will ever be gone, Tony’ll go back to be the Bigger Bad, and they’ll hate him once more. Not that he doubts they hate him now, but the hate they feel for Ross must be greater if they’re coming to his aid. Well- not really, they’re not coming literally to his aid, they’re just shouting and banging on the glass of their cells’. Not that they can do much else. Still, they probably just hate him less than they hate Ross- which, in retrospect, is a relief. If they thought him worse than Ross he doesn’t really know if it says more about what kind of men they are or about what kind of man he is.

His thoughts are interrupted by Ross’ newest monologue on how of course Tony must know where Rogers is and if he didn’t tell him he would torture him and make him wish he was never born and yada yada yada.

Tony looks at Ross through bored eyes and does nothing but sigh

Honestly, _his life_

Tony yawns -not even on purpose- half through the speech, making Ross stop and look at him, his face quickly becoming enraged at the obvious boredom and lack of fear on Tony’s face.

Ross’ face is slowly but surely doing its best to imitate a red version of the hulk, Tony thinks.

At Clint’s startled snort and Ross’ angry growl, Tony realises he might have said that out loud.

Oh well, sleep and food deprivation’ll do that to you.

Ross reaches for his pocket and gets the red ball out

Well… shit

The ball slaps against the ground, and Tony seizes up in pain, his muscles clenching and his jaw snapping shut, biting his tongue in the process. He remains completely still, not even breathing. He hears distantly, as if muddled through water, the confused shouts of the others, outraged and confused. The pain goes away as suddenly as it came. Tony collapses, falling to his knees and breathing heavily.

“Where is Rogers?”

He doesn’t know, but, he doesn’t really want to deign Ross with an answer. And… he doesn’t really feel like caring about himself right now. He feels… like maybe, just maybe, if he suffers enough, he’ll be forgiven. By who? He doesn’t really know.

Maybe by the thousands of people who had died because of his carelessness with his weapons

Maybe by Vision, who was now scarred for life for having taken Rhodey’s legs. It wasn’t his fault (it was Tony’s) and Tony had tried telling him, but nothing could make the android change his mind.

Maybe by Barnes. After all, the man was innocent. Yes, he had killed his mother. Yes, he had killed his father. Yes, he had killed hundreds of people. But he didn’t want to. He was brainwashed. And Tony had attacked him. Almost killed him. Taken away his arm. He was too tired to feel guilty, but he knew the man deserved an apology.

Maybe by Rhodey, who had followed him, and trusted him. And had lost his legs for it. Rhodey has always been the older brother Tony never had, and Tony has always felt undeserving of his friendship. He has never felt more undeserving than when Rhodey had told him that ‘it’s okay, Tones, really- hey look at me, I’m okay’ just after the doctor had told them the possibility of Rhodey losing his ability to walk and Tony, well, Tony had lost it. The man had just lost his legs, for Christ’s sake! Because of Tony’s idiocy, and he had- he hadn’t yelled- he- he wasn’t even mad! He had been his usual caring self and consoled Tony. And if that wasn’t a punch in the gut then he didn’t know what was.

Maybe by Tony himself

So he just looks straight into Ross’ eyes and, raising his chin up in defiance, he spits right in Ross’ face. “Fuck. You”

The ball slams to the ground.

He falls to the side, muscles trembling from the strain of having to clench all at once and for so long, seizing up in pain. The wave of pain is bigger than last time, crashing on him and overwhelming him enough that he almost screams, barely catching himself by biting his lips and letting out a grunt.

It feels like being stabbed by hundred of knives, it feels like being shot over and over, it feels like being thrown in boiling water.

It feel like _burning_

It’s sudden, and it takes you less a second to catch fire. It’s fast in stealing all other thoughts and you can’t think about anything but pain

Once it finally stops Tony gulps a mouthful of air, coughing and spluttering, having forgotten to breathe. He takes a moment to _just_ _breathe Tony, breathe_. He can almost hear Rhodey. He rolls on his stomach, shakily raising himself to his knees, breathing heavily. Ross looks down at him. Tony barely registers the golden ball he has in his free hand. He can’t really hear with how his ears are ringing, but he sees Ross’ mouth moving in a question.

Tony raises his chin “f- fuck yo-”

And suddenly he’s on the ground, back hurting by how fast he threw himself down, unease seeping deep in his bones, making him writhe and whine on the ground. He can’t help but scratch at his neck, his face, his chest, his arms, trying to rid himself of the feeling, whining in helplessness. He desperately wants to yell, scream, cry out, but he can barely even breathe

It feels like being slowly skinned alive, it feels like thousands of ants crawling under his skin, it feels like drowning

It feels like _freezing_

It’s slow, and it takes you limb by limb. It gives you time to wonder, to think. It traps you in your own head, slowly but surely driving you mad.

And suddenly it stops, the scream he was unable to let out before is ripped out of his throat, leaving him breathless and gasping. He’s trembling and his vision is blurry. He raises himself on his right elbow, his left trembling too much to be of use. Ross is smirking at him

Tony raises his chin


	4. Chapter 4

They say torture is almost harder to watch than to experience. They say it’s a form of torture itself, watching someone being tortured. Well, those people can go fuck themselves cause Tony bets everything he has that Sam and Clint and Ant-guy are having a great time in comparison to him. The fuckers get fancy food and showers and clean sheets and he _really_ needs to stop that line of thought cause he’s not gonna resent them for not getting tortured even though _fuck if he wants to_. But no, he isn’t going to hate the guys for not getting tortured cause that would be _bad Tony, no._

What was he thinking? Right, torture. Cause that’s a thing now. They’re torturing him. As in, water boarding, electrifying, beating- you get the gist. Cause apparently Ross can’t always be there to squeeze his balls- _and oh my god he has so many jokes about those balls_ , you wouldn’t believe it. If he only wasn’t gagged most of the time, the world would be a better place with those jokes out there. Or at least funnier. Anyway, Ross can’t pass all his time in the Raft, he has lives to ruin, puppies to kick and all that jazz. Hence the ‘regular’ torture. 

He has to admit, he prefers this torture to Ross’ balls. 

The realisation that he does, in fact, know where Rogers is came on the third(?) day. It’s obvious, really. Where else could they be? After all, Wakanda’s king sees himself as just and kind, and has never ruled before now. If he’ll see his mistake in trying to kill Barnes as something that he needs to atone for, he’ll certainly offer them sanctuary. And, as he has never ruled before, he won’t see this as something that could bring harm to his own country. Tony, on the other hand, having been in the media’s eye his whole life and having been the CEO of Stark Industries for years can see this crashing and burning down from a mile away

He contemplates, for a moment, what would happen if he told Ross. He wouldn’t have any legal proof, as Tony was dead to the world and couldn’t have told him. And any illegal way would certainly need being able to pass Wakanda’s border and remain undetected. And unless he knows a way in… but no, he doesn’t… does he? Ross would be ready to do anything to get them, the fact that he is torturing Tony proves it. So Tony can’t- won’t take the risk. Not when there’s an innocent man at stake and- no, he’s not talking about Rogers. No, he’s talking about Barnes. And he knows he’s making the same mistake as king T’Challa, but he isn’t doing it because he sees himself as just and fair. In fact, he sees himself as the opposite. And that’s why he’s doing this: guilt. At this point, he feels almost nothing but anger at himself and tiredness, but curiously enough he also feels guilt. Funny how the only emotions he feels are self-destructive.

Also, and he knows it’s kind of sick, but it’s kinda getting funnier and funnier to see Ross lose it every time he even just raises his chin up in defiance. Which is becoming more and more frequent as he often doesn’t have the strength to talk back to Ross.

It’s been a while since the last round of torture, so he has regained some semblance of strength. Not much, but enough to talk at least. The guards come to get him to start the torture, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been here, but it must have happened at least a dozen times in the least. They take him to the centre of the room, as always, and bring in a metal bathtub filled to the brim with freezing water, that he knows from experience will _burn_ when it’ll force itself in his lungs. He doesn’t struggle, as always, and they force him in the tub. They do it without preamble and, as always, he drowns. They keep going for a while, and when they finally give him a break from the water boarding he makes a joke, as you do when you’re being tortured

“Honestly… this is… the cleanest I’ve been… in the last decade” he says gasping and spluttering as they step away form him. He’s still in the water from the neck down, skin freezing and lungs burning, and he smirks mockingly at their scowls. And- uh oh, if they weren’t angry before, they’re angry now. They talk briefly to each other before yanking him out of the bathtub by his armpits and to Clint’s cell, where they pin him against it, back to the bars. Two guards hold him there while the third turns his gun’s safe off and points it at him. Tony has barely enough time to think _well, shit_ and scream “wait!” before there’s a bang

 

<<< 

  
It happened so fast.

That’s what most people say when there’s a shooting. 

It happened so fast 

That’s what Clint himself knows for a fact about any and every shooting he’s been in. 

It happened so fast

That they happened fast, with him having minimal control over what was happening.

It happened so fast 

But he did have control, even if minimal. 

It happened so fast 

He always remembers, after, every single detail, being scarily precise in his mission report.

It happened so fast 

Every single punch, every single kick, every single shot fired.

It happened so fast

Every detail of how and when and why would be clear in his mind

It happened so fast

And yet, after writing his mission report, he would get over it easily, forgetting about it in favour of spending time with Laura and the kids.

It happened so fast

But this time, this time…

It happened so fast 

It’s different.

It happened so fast 

Because, this time-

_It happened so slowly_

It’s like time was taunting him, making him see every second of it in slow motion. 

_It happened so slowly_

And he doesn’t remember most of it

_It happened so slowly_

He doesn’t remember the why or the how

_It happened so slowly_

All he remembers, is the sound of the gun safety clicking in that tall tale way.

_It happened so slowly_

And then his eyes were snapping up, from his crouched position against the wall trying to stop the noises of Tony drowning after finally getting that they wouldn’t stop torturing just because they asked them to.

_It happened so slowly_

His eyes widening at the gun’s safety oh so familiar noise, he had shot up.

_It happened so slowly_

And then he was rushing to  the glass of his cell, where Tony was pinned

_It happened so slowly_

But he was too slow

_It happened so slowly_

He had yelled, a jumble of crescendo nos

_It happened so slowly_

“NononONO!”

_It happened so slowly_

And suddenly there was a bang, making him flinch bodily and halting him, Tony’s blood spraying on the glass, making him recoil

Ant then time stopped

And, for a moment, as Tony slid down the bars, the back of his head hitting every one of them, motionless and limp, he thought ‘that’s it’

‘He’s dead’ 

And that thought woke him up from his trance, making him throw himself to his knees, his trembling hands on the glass following Tony’s gentle, slow fall.

“Tony! Hey hey! Tony!” His hands tapped the glass as Tony slid down, trying to make him regain consciousness “Tony! Wake up man!” 

Fear gripped his heart when Tony didn’t answer, finally slumping down on the ground. There was a ringing in his ears, making him ignore Sam’s shouts and Scott’s pleads for Tony to wake up. All he could do was remain frozen, breath stuck in his throat until a guard kneeled and felt Tony’s neck for a pulse

Clint’s ears finally stopped ringing, registering the silence that had taken over the room. No one made a sound, no one moved as the guard checked for Tony’s pulse

And he couldn’t breathe. 

Because what if Tony was- was dead, and the last thing Clint had said to him was a joke about Rhodey’s broken back instead of a last thank you for saving his family from the data dump. 

A second passed 

Because what if Tony was dead and the last thing Clint had done to him was team up with Wanda to throw cars at him instead of pulling some dumb prank on him that would have started yet another epic prank war. 

His eyes burned

Because what if Tony was dead and the last thing Clint had seen him do was being tortured instead of watching him build something groundbreaking in the workshop for hours. 

His sight got watery 

Because what if Tony was dead and the last think Clint and him had done together was fight instead of playing yet another game of Mario Cart?

He blinked away the tears to see more clearly, unknowingly letting them fall

_Because what if Tony was dead?_

The guard looked towards the shooter and finally spoke

“He’s alive”

A relieved sob tore itself out of his throat, his lungs stuttering as the breath got out of Clint’s lungs in a rush, and he rested his head against the cold glass of his cell. His heart beating wildly in fear of losing Tony.

Now, hours later, the tears having dried on his cheeks and the fear for one of his best friends having subdued, he looks down at his hands and all he could think is that he feels like that there should be blood there, but all he sees is clean skin

And he has to remind himself 

_He’s alive_

**Author's Note:**

> No idea if I should continue this, no idea how it even came to me really. So I’d like to know what you think: do you like it? Hate it? Would you like to read more? Or not? Thanks for reading!


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